


floatin' but i feel like i'm dyin'

by woricks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Unrequited Love, depresso espresso, disclaimer: dimilix is one-sided
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 07:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20862689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woricks/pseuds/woricks
Summary: a collection of felix-centric vignettes. stories of growing and dying and learning from heartbreak and other things, to say the least.





	floatin' but i feel like i'm dyin'

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from jeremy zucker and chelsea cutler's "you were good to me" which you should listen to bc it's angsty. and this piece was heavily inspired by a specific line in a poem written by adam falkner titled "when it matters", and that line is "i am overflowing with words i do not have".
> 
> so basically, this entire piece is a vomit of metaphors and similes bc that's like the only thing i'm good at doing. anyway, yell with me about fe3h on twitter yeehaw @rarepairings

Felix couldn’t conquer the heartbreak so he baptised himself in it. From toes to soul, heart to hands. The sadness is his backbone, the sadness wakes him to the heavy and dusty duvets of tomorrow, the sadness tattoos the ridges on his fingers, keeps him whole yet fractured, pulls him, engulfs him, but deliberately so, painfully so. 

It fills his lungs yet punctures him, so each breath knocks his teeth, scratches his throat– it courses through his veins, makes his fingers heavy, makes fighting seem like dreaming, makes each crunch of the skull, each slice across skin akin to hallucinating, akin to an intoxicated haze, akin to a fucked up blur of blood and bone. 

You see, there’s nothing beautiful about heartbreak. There’s nothing beautiful about sadness, no words able to truly describe it. And Felix is not one to feel either. At least not this much, but Dimitri just doesn’t know that Felix’s back has cracked and broken and bent and fallen into Dimitri’s direction so many times that his spine is permanently arched and purposefully twisted into perpetual questioning, always wondering what Claude has that he doesn’t.

Except Felix knows, and he knows a little too well. Claude is warmer than warmth, brighter than the sun, far too large to be perched onto words or to have metaphors braided through his being. Felix flinches away, but Dimitri curls towards it, basks in it, lets it course through him like the dusty sunlight that breathes life into the believers at the cathedral. Dimitri’s hands tightly clasp in prayer with Claude’s fingers filling all the spaces in-between, making him whole, making them whole.

Felix doesn’t need to even think to know that the rumbling doesn’t come from the enemies, but from the tectonic plates of their chests crashing against one another in a kiss.

He tries to bury the heartbreak only to realise that this kind of heartbreak comes in the form of seeds, so Felix can’t do anything, but watch as it sculpts the rainforest of his veins, splinters through the canopy of his ribcage, uplifts the tombstones of his feet– the heartbreak massacres him from the inside until Felix is left crumbling and lonely and unsure what to do with a sadness that so happens to layer this house of bones.

Felix is really not one to feel this much. He’s not one to allow any sort of emotion to really affect him _this_ much. So he keeps it in. And it’s like he’s discovering language all over again. He is overwhelmed and overflowing with words he never knew he had– an overabundance of metaphors, a leakage, an excess, and Felix didn’t know a tongue could ever feel this heavy. Or that a heart could ever feel this heavy.


End file.
